


The Legacy of Anthony Royal

by orphan_account



Category: High-Rise (2015)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bondage, But it is also so much fun, Desk Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, F/M, I blame DaScribbla for everything this fic embodies, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, She is a terrible enabler and must be held accountable for her crimes, Threesome, Voyeurism, We look WAY too deeply into Tom Hiddleston's continual choice of acting out mildly subby characters, enjoy the porn fest everyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 09:54:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8051821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The high rise was meant to push the boundaries of apartment complex living. It was meant to inspire a new lifestyle for its inhabitants. But for Laing, it was where he discovered hidden truths about himself and forced to confront. All in thanks of Anthony Royal





	The Legacy of Anthony Royal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DaScribbla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaScribbla/gifts).



> So after reading the book and watching the movie, I decided that I wanted to explore some things. Namely the relationship between Laing and Royal. 
> 
> So expect lots of porn down below because I have a lot of fun with this story.

Life in the high rise was never a dull affair. The extravagant parties held by the floors in competition next to one another provided the inhabitants with endless amounts of entertainment and escapism from their rather dull lives. Here alliances were made, promises to uphold the floor dynamics and protect those who were a part of them and destroy those who weren’t.

It was with these parties that Laing came into the acquaintance of Anthony Royal, the architect behind this building. He lived with his wife on the top floor, king among the high rise, having what everyone wanted. Power, prestige, control. And yet he sought out Laing, simple, mid-floor Laing who sought out solitude, who never wanted anything more in life than what he already had.

He was invited up to the rooftop garden many times to walk with Royal and talk of life in the building, what Royal hoped to achieve with it.

“It is meant to inspire, my designs,” he said. “Inspire change in what a high rise can be, the kind of life it can offer.”

It was true. No one had ever attempted to build what Royal could. He pushed the boundaries of what a high rise could encompass: a fully stocked market, a rudimentary school, a swimming pool, recreational activity rooms, and a rooftop garden. Everything one man could need without having to set foot out of the building.

Including, as well, one horse.

“Your wife,” Laing said, “seems eccentric.”

“She likes grand gestures and appearances. She has plans for a large gathering tomorrow night. You should come, if you haven’t yet found your standing in this place.”

Laing made an effort to make it to the Royals’ gathering. He dressed smartly and purchased a bottle of Riesling to take with him. He took the elevator to the top and stepped into a sea of gold and white. He had grown used to the lavish and often bizarre parties of the high rise. But the higher floors wanted to be known for their extravagance. Their unfettered lives without any children or any other earthly cares to tether them to the ground.

It was all a grand fantasy. A means to show off to those in the lower floors. To prove a point that they were their betters, and that they had the power of the building.

It was a costume party. Set in the Georgian era of powdered wigs and gaudiness. Laing felt acutely aware of his suddenly ill-fitting manner of dress. He stood silently, surrounded by gold and white silver clad residents as they each took notice of him. And how far out of their league he was.

He knew no one. Or rather he couldn’t recognize any of them. He couldn’t determine if Royal or even his wife were here.

“Did you invite him?” one said to another, without bothering to address him.

“Of course not,” the other scoffed. They looked at him with mild curiosity and befuddlement.

“No. Royal did, actually,” Laing said, trying to defend himself. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Must be one of his funny little social experiments,” the man said to his companion

The other gave Laing an appraising look, eyes sweeping from his head to his toes and back again. Laing could feel himself blush. “What have you come as? A dilettante?”

The men both laughed and walked off. Laing felt it his time to depart to the side of the room, still looking for Royal and yet not finding him. He felt the unease of the situation prickling over his skin. He had the undeniable urge to raise his hand to his neck, but knew that would only make it more apparent that he didn’t belong here and that he knew he didn’t belong here.

Another man came up to him and made idle small chat with him, taking a small interest in him before, unknowingly to Laing, herding him into the elevator and sending him away from the party.

The humiliation hurt. And that Royal had probably known the theme of the party and still extended an invitation to Laing without telling him also did not sit well with Laing.

The next day he went to the gym and occupied one of the rowing stations. The exercise kept him occupied, exhausted him to the point where his thoughts were just a gentle hum, so quiet he could barely hear them.

He met with Royal again in the garden a few days later. Slightly more frazzled than before. The electricity in the lower floors had begun to short out, and Laing had increasing feeling of unease settle under his skin. But up here in Royal’s garden, he felt safe. Wilder’s strife had not reached this paradise.

“I have a feeling your wife’s friends don’t think much of me,” Laing said as Royal continued to sketch his designs.

“They are a particular group. And I’m afraid you made a poor impression.”

“If I had known the dress code . . .”

“It’s not just your manner of dress, Laing.” Royal set down his pencil. “It’s the way you speak, the way you act, how you confide yourself with Wilder and his ilk.”

Laing turned away from Royal. It had become increasingly apparent as of late that forming allies was key to survival. Those in the middle floors of the high rise had a choice to make: they were either with the high floors, the low floors, or they wanted to simply sit it out and wait. But wait for what?

“I’m not with Wilder.”

“Then it seems you’ve fooled a lot of people.” Royal got up from his desk and walked around to stand at Laing’s side, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I like you, Laing. You see things the way I do. You’re a practical and resourceful man. You wouldn’t have it this far if you weren’t. But I see a greatness in you that no one else does. Prove yourself tonight.”

Laing frowned. “By doing what?”

“Come to dinner. I don’t think you’ve been properly introduced to the right people yet. We’ll get you sorted out just yet.”

Royal squeezed his shoulder affectionately, and Laing allowed himself to be escorted out

The elevators weren’t working at the time, so he had to climb several flights of stairs before they decided to come back to life again. The trip was spent in silence with only the mechanical hum of the elevators. Laing took the time to look over his appearance in the mirrored walls. His hair was slightly out of place due to the brisk climb up the stairs. And he felt sweaty underneath his arms, underneath the tie around his neck and between his legs. Not the way he wanted to be seen, but there was nothing he could do now.

Dressed as before, in one of his close fitting suits and a skinny tie, Laing entered the Royals’ apartment once more as a guest. Everything was gleaming, and the other guests were already here. He recognized more of them now than he had before. But also it was only a select handful that some were here. The closest to the Royals, Laing assumed.

“Look who’s come around again.” Laing knew the man. Pangbourne. One of Royal’s most vocal supporters. “Dr. Laing is it?”

Laing nodded and stuck out his hand in greeting but received none. He let his hand drop uselessly to his side, ignoring the urge to fidget under the gazes of so many. “Royal invited me. If that’s all right with you.”

“Not my place to say who’s to come and go. But whatever makes you feel more welcome.” The man snickered, and Laing smiled as politely as he could. He knew it wasn’t going to be easy to find his place in this crowd. But Royal wanted him here, and the thought bolstered his self-esteem. He was wanted. His company was desired. Valued. He had a place here.

His manner of dress was more appreciated this night than previous. The few guests were dressed in fine evening ware. Black suits with bowties. Low cut dresses with open backs that shimmered in the evening light.

Questions were asked of him that night. The people knew little of him other than Royal’s fascination with him.

“And how are you settling into life at the high rise?” asked Ann, Royal’s wife who flirted with anyone in the room without a care in the world. Women flocked to her as their queen. Men wanted to capture a piece of what was Royal’s. Everyone rubbing elbows with the most prestigious woman in the building all in a chance to get even closer to Royal, whose lack of presence at the gathering struck Laing as odd.

“Quietly,” Laing responded. “I should hope. There have been break-ins as of late.”

“Not doubt by Wilder and the rest,” said a man by the name of Simmons, a close friend to Pangbourne. “Those lower floors are getting out of hand. Getting dangerous to go any below the 35th.”

“I don’t know why you would want to go down there in the first place,” Ann said. “Everyone knows that civilized people stay at the top while the animals squabble over what’s left down below. Laing has the right idea, don’t you, Laing?”

Laing’s head shot up. All eyes suddenly on him. “Excuse me?”

 “You like to play the invisible man. Single. Quiet. Keeps to himself. A recluse that locks himself away in his own apartment. But we know better.” Ann was smiling at him, slouching in her seat on the couch with her dress hiked up further along her legs. Laing swallowed. “He plays the quiet mouse so that none of us will see how he scampers his way into our folds. So that he’ll be protected among us when things get scary where he lives.”

“It’s people like him we have to watch out for,” Pangbourne said, a thoughtful look on his face. “The quiet ones.” He stood up from his seat and paced the length between them. “What are you playing at, eh, Laing? Decided you didn’t fit in with Wilder and them and decided to come up to us instead?”

Laing looked about the room. The others studied him carefully, wondering if he could be trusted. But there was something else there, too, that made Laing shiver. Hunger. Something new brought before them. A foreign delicacy they could sink their teeth in to.

Before he could answer, Royal decided to make his appearance. He set a hand on Laing’s shoulder. “Dr. Laing here is my guest and should be treated as such. We could use someone with his expertise.”

“A doctor of psychology,” Pangbourne said derisively. “And what else does he got going for him other than pushing people to commit suicide?”

“I’m sure he has other uses than that,” Royal said calmly. “We just need to put him in the right setting.”

Laing looked to Royal. There was something in his gaze that Laing recognized as the same curiosity and hunger the people held for him here. He wasn’t here because people liked him or wanted to be in his company. He was here to be entertaining, a centre piece. Not to be accepted and treated as an equal, but to be consumed and used.

The weight of Royal’s hand on Laing’s shoulder felt heavy. He felt warm now. Heated from everyone’s gaze upon him.

Nothing happened in that moment. Royal simply patted Laing’s shoulder and stepped away, preferring to stand at the edges of the gathering. Perhaps he had done that before, Laing thought. Hovered at the edges and watched as the events folded out before him.

So Laing was taken into the fold, but it was because they all wanted to know what he could do for them, what role he could fill.

Alcohol was in excess those days in the high rise. It seemed to be one of the few things people searched for. More important than food anyway.

It didn’t take long for the drinks to work their way into Laing, to loosen up his muscles and make him pliable. It loosened his tongue as well. He responded to questions asked of him, to comments made on the state of the building.

Later in the night, Laing found himself seated next to Ann. She was judging him, and he smiled to placate her.

“What does he see in you?” she asked with a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

“Excuse me?”

“Anthony. What does he see in you? You came from nowhere, and now he has his hands all over you. How much did he pay you?”

Laing blushed. “I-I. There is nothing between us. And he-he didn’t pay me.” To be accused of being a rent boy angered Laing. He had half the mind to leave right away if this was their opinion of him. But he had to set things right, to convince Ann that he was no threat to her.

“There is nothing going on between us. I can assure you.”

Ann didn’t seem convinced. She stretched out her legs and rested them on Laing’s knee. “He doesn’t sketch as much,” she said. “He barely even looks at me. And when you’re around, you’re all he looks at. Like some new pet project he’s decided to pick up. But what does he see in you?”

Ann pressed closer to him. “I want to know what makes you so special.”

She captured his lips with a single, breathtaking kiss. He closed his eyes at the contact, hand coming up unbidden to stroke her cheek, a moment of tenderness in a world turned mad.

He opened his eyes once her lips left his. Then he remembered himself, remembered that Royal was here, probably watching him from the sidelines. He dropped his hand. “Your husband—”

“Doesn’t care about me. He hardly notices me these days.  And I want what he has.”

She slid over him, sitting upon his lap and trapping him against the sofa. They kissed again, this time rougher. She liked to bite, nipping his bottom lip and continuing to the lobes of his ears, his neck, and back up to his lips. She loosened his tie, unbuttoned his shirt at the top so could leave more bruising bites on his pale skin. He had not left his apartment in . . . he had trouble remembering.

Fevered hands reached down to his trousers, tugging open his belt so they could dip inside to stroke his cock. He groaned at the contact, hips rolling forward into Ann’s grasp. He pressed his face into her shoulder, arms wrapping around her back to keep her close.

She pulled at his trousers and briefs, pulling them further down along his thighs until his cock springs free. She rucked up her dress. Laing pulled away for a moment, looking up at her through glazed eyes. And then she sank down upon him, taking his cock into her warm heat. He moaned, eyes closing as she bit her lip.

She took all of him in, rolling her hips to work him up. She took hold of his tie, wrapped one length around her hand and yanked his head back. His eyes flew open, breath suddenly cut off. She grinned down at him, moving to lick his throat as she lifted herself up off his cock before sliding back down in a fluid movement.

His sudden lack of air sent his neurons firing. His gaze became clear and suddenly aware of what was happening. As Ann fucked herself upon him, the others in the room watched them from the sidelines, set in their own activities of debauchery but still watching Ann and Laing on the couch. He felt all eyes on him, flushing straight up to his hairline.

Ann relaxed her grip on his tie and used it more to guide him in the motions. She raised him to a climax, holding him at that point until he grew frustrated with the need for release.

“A-Ann,” he stuttered, acutely aware that they were fucking in public. But even more aware of Royal being out there, lurking in the dark, observing their coupling.

He gripped her hips, digging his fingers into her skin, sure to leave marks behind—dark the next morning.

Their fucking took on a frenzied life, both panting, thrusting against each other ruthlessly.

“A-Ann,” Laing breathed. “S-stop please.” His mortification was still present, edging its way past the pleasure to the forefront of his mind.

“Word of advice, Dr. Laing,” she said, licking a stripe up his cheek. “You talk too much.” She fucked harder, throwing her head back and taking her pleasure first, moaning out a triumphant ‘yes.’ She sagged against him, giggling as he shallowly pumped his hips to get the needed friction to push himself over the edge.

They took a moment to breathe and come to their senses. Ann lifted herself off and slid onto the couch beside him. She smiled at him and leaned in and said, “Now I see your use.” She fixed her dress and returned to the others, leaving him, half undressed, upon the couch.

There was laughter in the room. He didn’t know if it was directed towards him, but it startled him all the same. He stood up, pulled up his clothes and tucked himself in. He fled to the elevator, pressing the button several times and waiting for its arrival. He looked over his shoulder cautiously. The guests didn’t seem interested in him, but some looked. Some whispered, and that was enough to send Laing running.

The elevator doors opened, and Laing stepped inside. He turned to face the room and caught Royal’s gaze just before the doors closed. He shivered and descended the high rise.

The memory of the gathering stayed with Laing. He didn’t dare leave his apartment. Here he was safe. Here he was alone.

He remained in bed for the most part, surrounded by blankets and musty clothing. In the stillness, he recalled the past events and wondered, wondered why he wasn’t revolted by it. Wondered why when he recalled the look on Royal’s face that it kindled a fire in his belly.

He needed answers. He wanted to understand why he reacted the way he did that night. Common sense should’ve been to push Ann away. Or at least to escort her to a bedroom. But none of that was there. Not anywhere in the high rise to begin with.

He was filled with something restless but direct. He had no need to go out and brave the high rise, solidify his place in it like Wilder so wanted to do. But he was drawn to the top floor. To Royal.

He left his apartment and began to climb the stairs. The dizzying assent left him breathless, but he made it to Royal’s floor.

Royal was sketching again, endlessly sketching. He looked up when Laing made his silent entrance.

“I was wondering when you would return,” he said, returning to glance at his work.

“What do you want with me?” Laing asked, not trusting himself to come farther.

“What I want for anyone in my building—to discover who they truly are. And you, Laing—like everyone else—are just as lost as the rest of them.” He set down his pencil and crossed the room to Laing. He was moving slower, limping more from his previous injury. “And you’ve come to me because you need someone to guide you, to tell you what to do.”

Laing remained stoic. “That’s not what I need.”

“And how many times have you told yourself that?”

Laing didn’t reply. Instead he turned and headed for the elevator.

“You’ll be back,” Royal said behind him.

Again Laing hid in his apartment, ever the creature of habit. There were things he didn’t want to admit about himself. A voice had taken up residence inside his head. The Id taking the place of the carefully constructed Ego.

 _You can’t hide forever,_ the voice said.

He was lying on his bed, staring up at his ceiling. The world outside was muffled, calling to him in all its sordid misconduct.

Was Royal right in his assessment of him? Was he seeking someone to tell him what to do? To give some order and purpose to his life?

He sat up in bed, slowly moving his feet to the floor. He crossed the room to the door, pressing his ear against it to listen out into the hallway. It was quiet for once. Maybe Wilder was on his war path down below. Either way, Laing had the sense that he was alone. And for once that didn’t sit well with him.

He crept out of his apartment, weaving his way through the trashed filled hallway. He felt dazed as he made his way to the stairwell. Delusional by a hunger that was consuming him with each step he took closer to the top of the building.

He reached Royal’s floor and entered to find a crowd had already gathered. They were more lax this time, stretched out around the room in various states of undress.

“And look who’s come to join us,” Ann said from where she was surrounded by many others. _“The Architect’s Pet.”_

Laing was shoved forward. He looked back to see Pangbourne. He shoved Laing into the middle of the gathering.

“Guess Royal was right after all,” he said. “You know where your place is without being told.”

Laing turned in a slow circle, eying everyone who was in the room. They looked back at him.

“Poor dear looks rather shy,” a woman, sitting to Ann’s left, said.

“Rather like a lamb.”

“Maybe he needs some liquid encouragement.”

Laing was grabbed from behind, arms locked around elbows. He struggled minutely. “What are you doing?” He was looking at one of Pangbourne’s mates—they all wore the same styled track suit in different colours.

“Just giving you a little something to get you all relaxed,” Pangbourne said from where he held Laing still. “I find it makes ‘em more fun, when they don’t put up much of a struggle.”

Then Laing saw the needle. Filled with some sort of drug. The sleeve on his right arm was pushed up.

“No.” He tried jerking his arm back, but it was held tight. “No. No don’t!” The needle pricked his skin, pushing all sorts of concoctions into his blood. His already quick heartbeat would speed up the process. He was already feeling rather light.

He was released. He fell to the ground with a wave of vertigo. He felt pleasingly good once the room had stopped spinning. Blood warm instead of cold or hot. Body light instead of heavy. Everything he touched felt new and exciting. He swept his hands over the shag carpet. Then to his face, tracing down his neck and open collar, tie loose. His hands weave down his torso, legs falling open upon the ground as he brushed over his groin.

His pleasure was bright and sensitive. He wanted to take himself in hand feel himself as he had when he was just a boy—still new to his own pleasure. But his mortification of this public scene was still holding on, so he contented himself to cupping the bulge in his trouser and rubbing softly.

“None of that now.” Laing’s arms were nudged away from his crotch. He looked up and saw two men standing above him. “You’re ours tonight. That means hands off.”

Laing was flipped onto his stomach. His tie was unravelled from around his neck and brought to his wrists before he could protest. His hands were bound expertly behind his back. A hand in his hair pulled him to his knees.

“Let’s see if he can put that mouth to good work.”

A man stood before him, unbuckling his belt and taking out his half hard prick. “Come on, slut.”

Another sharp tug to his hair, and Laing opened his mouth. He swirled his tongue around the head, curling his lips over his teeth and sucking hard. The man groaned appreciatively and brought his hands to the back of Laing’s head. He pushed Laing forward. Laing widened his mouth and took the cock deep into his mouth. He breathed through his nose as he was held there and forced to swallow around the cock.

He was released and allowed to pull off, taking in a deep breath. He licked up the underside of the man’s cock, tracing the vein before laving the head once more.

“You’re just as skilled with that tongue as you are with your hands, aren’t you, Doctor?”

Laing closed his eyes and moaned as the man proceeded to fuck his cock into his mouth at a more rapid pace. He spilled without warning, filling Laing’s mouth He pulled out, and Laing licked his lips. He opened his eyes, looking up at the spent man who gently carded his fingers through Laing’s hair.

He was pushed away roughly and landed on his side. A smaller hand gently pushed on his shoulder until he was flat on his back. He saw Ann above him, a spark of cruelty residing in her gaze.

“Look how far you’ve come,” she said, settling on her knees over top of his chest, dressed rucked to her hips. She cupped his chin to make him look a only her. “Let’s keep this smart mouth occupied, shall we?” She lifted her skirts higher and situated herself so that her cunt rested above his lips.

At this time someone was jerking at his belt. They pulled down his trousers and briefs to pull out his half hard cock. He was stroked firmly, squirming while doing so and trying to keep up with Ann’s demands.

The head of his cock brushed wet folds and then the other woman sank down upon him. He could do nothing but accept what was given to him. In his state, he forgot about the setting he was in, merely focusing on the demands placed upon him

After sucking off Ann to completion with the mystery woman fucking herself wildly upon his cock, it became a muddled haze. He had pieces of memory about that night. On his stomach with his arse in the air, being fucked into from behind. His face pressed into a man’s lap as he sat with legs spread wide. Licking another woman’s cunt as a man used his arse.

When they were done with him, a passerby took pity on him and jerked his cock roughly until he came.

The room was quiet and dark, only lit by candles, when he became aware of his surroundings in a less drug hazed manner. Across from, sat calmly in the dark was the unmistakable form of Royal.

Laing shifted restlessly on the floor. His hands were still bound, trousers and briefs gone and shirt hanging off one shoulder. He licked his lips and swallowed. Parts of his body felt tight. The space between his legs sore. Various aches called for his attention, but he couldn’t place a reason for their existence.

“And now we see you,” Royal said, low and rumbling. “In your natural state.”

“Please,” Laing said, suddenly tired with a great emotion welling up inside his chest.

“What do you want, Laing?”

With great effort, he heaved himself onto his knees and shuffled over to Royal, situating himself between Royal’s spread legs. He laid his head on his thigh.

“I want . . .” he hesitated. He couldn’t put words to what he wanted, but he _needed_ something.

Royal held his cheek and stroked his skin with his thumb. They shared a moment of peace before Laing felt the urge to do something. He pressed his mouth over the bulge in Royal’s trousers. He breathed in the scent, laved attention over it as Royal carded his fingers through his hair.

“I know what you need,” Royal said, pressing his fingers under Laing’s chin to tilt up his head.

Laing sat back on his heels as Royal worked to take his cock out of his trousers. Laing moved forward, giving great attention to the head. Kissing it reverently. Licking over the slit to catch the bead of precome there. Wrapping his lips around it and sucking it softly.

“If only you could see yourself,” Royal said, in a long drawn out sigh as Laing took his cock further into his mouth. “Would you even recognize yourself? Could you see Robert Laing underneath this depraved slut you’ve become?”

Laing moaned.

“It’s so natural for you to be on your knees,” Royal continued, forcing Laing to take more of his cock. “You came here because you wanted to lose yourself in the life of the high rise. Needed someone to tell you what to do. Put you in your proper place where you no longer had to think.” Laing choked as the cock hit the back of his throat, but he kept at it. Royal sighed softly. “What you wanted was to submit.”

Royal finished in Laing’s mouth, holding his head still until Laing swallowed it all. Laing licked Royal clean before sitting back on his heels and waiting patiently.

“You’re just where you need to be, Laing,” Royal said after righting himself. He cupped Laing’s cheek, and Laing leaned into the embrace.

Later, his arms would be unbound and he’d be laid out to rest upon the plush carpet. It was easy to succumb to his fatigue that night.

Laing settled into a strange life after that night. There was no need for him to return to his own apartment, and Royal seemed content on keeping him nearby. Not only for Laing’s exceptional skills with his tongue, but also because Royal enjoyed his company in general.

He could see the appeal of living up in the upper floors of the high rise. It was peaceful up here. He wouldn’t have to worry about Wilder’s revolutions down below. Here he could breathe and sit in the sun and live in this tenuous peace that Royal had created.

He lived idly, leaving himself accessible to whenever Royal—or Ann—had need of him. Mostly he sat at Royal’s side as the man went over his sketches again and again, as if to seek out further imperfections that he could fix. Royal could reach Laing’s head to stroke his hair, talk to him without expecting a response.

But other times, Laing would find himself on his back or stomach, spread over Royal’s sketches as the older man stretched him open quickly and efficiently. Royal fucked with a sort of withheld roughness. A deep frustration in his veins that only spoke to how dissatisfied he still was with his work. But Laing provided an outlet for that frustration. Relishing every harsh thrust, every tug on his cock, every sordid feeling as he was filled by Royal’s come, left with thighs glistening upon the desk, the floor, wherever he happened to be left in his recovery.

It wasn’t uncommon for Laing to be used so suddenly by one of the few remaining men in the high rise. He was constantly aware of how any may seek him out and use him for sexual gratification. Man or woman, he fulfilled a need for them, because he took whatever they gave to him and expected nothing in return.

Royal would only fuck Laing when they were alone. He seemed more content to watch Laing whenever he was servicing another, but when they were alone he was allowed to have total control over Laing. Have his full attention.

And when he was done with Laing, he would leave and go tend to his dogs. Laing would remain where he was laid out and catch his breath. When he recovered, he would stand on shaky legs and move away where he could be easily accessible by another.

The freedom Royal offered him was something he would never forget. Even when Wilder managed to claw his way to the top of the building, brandished a gun and shot Royal dead and was, in turn, killed by the women of the high rise. While shocked, little changed for Laing.

The women did not see Laing as a threat. They let him live, become a part of the society they had begun with the downfall of the men.

When he was alone, he took Royal’s body away. He carried it down to the pool and waded into the murky and bloody water. There he carefully laid the old man to rest, dunking him beneath the surface and setting him free. It wasn’t a particularly cathartic moment. Nor did Laing shed any tears. It was a fitting end, he thought, giving Royal back to the building he had created. A natural process.

Royal had given Laing the opportunity to discover who he truly was. What his proper place was. And now Laing would continue on with the new order that had been established.

He returned to the top of the high rise. The women were easily making the garden space into something useful. Children were playing, laughing even despite the horrors that had surrounded them. He returned to his spot on the floor next to Charlotte Melville. They would curl around each other, each needing the other for different reasons.  

They were both products of Royal’s machinations, brought together by him and changed in ways they could never dream of. But in time they would come to settle into his legacy and what the women would make of it. Laing would do what he was needed to do in any way possible.

And life would go on in the high rise.

**Author's Note:**

> If you've made it this far, thanks for reading! This is basically my version of High Rise only a lot more sordid. So let me know what you think in comments. Leave kudos. I appreciate it. Come find me on [tumblr](http://mjolnir-s-master.tumblr.com/). I'm friendly. I don't mind. Share ideas with me. I enjoy that, too. 
> 
> So thanks for reading!


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